Prologue Aboard the Ballistic Missile Submarine USS

Aboard the Ballistic Missile Submarine U.S.S. Wyoming, SSBN-742, Somewhere in the South China Sea – Six Months Ago The U.S.S. ballistic missile submarine Wyoming churned through the water at twenty knots as it progressed on a rectangular track around its patrol area just inside the South China Sea. A recent conflict with China had taken the two nations to the brink of nuclear war. The Wyoming carried, among other armament, 24 Trident D2-5 ballistic missiles, each with a range of 7,500 miles and capable of carrying multiple, independently-targeted nuclear warheads. It was a powerful deterrent and, after its redeployment from the North Atlantic to the Far Eastern Pacific, represented the United States’ principal insurance policy against an ever-bolder China. The Captain of the Wyoming was aware that the People’s Liberation Army’s Navy would deploy every capability they had to find and shadow his boat. But a key element of any SSBN’s mission was to remain a ghost, and he was one of the best at exploiting a ballistic missile submarine’s key strategic advantage – stealth. During his previous three patrols, he had never been found by an adversary. In between deployments, his skill was tested during multiple wargame exercises. He had been found only once by an American Skipper on the chase team, and that man was now an Admiral commanding the submarine force in the Pacific and his boss. The Wyoming’s Captain was supremely confident in his ability to remain invisible, especially to the Chinese. Chinese submarine detection capabilities were widely believed to remain behind the curve, with the lion share of their naval budget diverted to investment in aircraft carriers. He was about to be surprised. “Conn, sonar, contact! Bearing is zero seven zero, range three thousand yards,” announced the STS, or Sonar Technician, Submarines, an E-6 Petty Officer First Class responsible for the acoustic monitoring of the submarine’s underwater environment. “Contact speed is fifteen knots.” “Sonar, Conn, aye,” replied the Officer of the Deck, the Naval Officer responsible for the Watch, or oversight of the ships maneuvering and safety when the Captain was not in the submarine’s Conning Tower. “Classify contact Sierra One. Call the Captain to the Conn.” The announcement, “Captain to the Conn”, resonated throughout the Boat’s Main Communications Intercom, or MC1, reaching Captain Alvarez as he stood in the missile compartment quizzing one of the launch officers on the maintenance procedures. He dropped his question mid-sentence, tapped the junior officer on the upper arm in a friendly gesture, turned and began running down the passageway. In less than sixty seconds, the Captain emerged through a bulkhead into the boat’s nerve center, its conning tower. “I have the Conn,” he announced, as he proceeded towards his command station. “Captain has the Conn,” replied the Officer of the Deck, acknowledging that he was handing supervision of the Watch back to the boat’s Captain. “What’s up, Dave?” asked the Captain of the officer he had just relieved, addressing the man by his first name, an informality that was often the custom on submarines. “Contact at three thousand yards, skipper. Speed is fifteen knots on a bearing of zero seven zero.” “Sonar, Conn. What’s out there?” asked the Captain, addressing the STS, or sonar operator, for details on what the contact might be. He knew it was likely another submarine, but what kind? And why was it there?” “Conn, Sonar. System is not returning a positive ident,” replied the STS, using the abbreviated version of the word identification, consistent with the emphasis on brevity in submarine communications. “Contact’s sonar signature is not matching anything in the computer’s library. Running diagnostics. Standby.” “Anything on the threat board, Dave?“ the Captain asked. “Are we supposed to have company?” “Negative, sir,” replied the officer. “Threat board was clear at last report.” “Sonar, Conn. What are your systems telling you?” “Conn, Sonar. Diagnostics evaluate acoustic signature as similar to a Chinese Shang- class attack boat, Type Zero-Niner-Three.” An attack boat was a submarine tasked with finding and, if necessary, sinking a ballistic missile sub. “Contact is moving under asymmetric propulsion, likely a seven-blade prop, consistent with a Shang, but something is off. The profile of the boat is different. Sonar signature suggests a larger displacement, possibly from a wider beam.” “Larger displacement?” the Captain asked, surprised. “Conn, Sonar, aye. Sonar is measuring a shaft RPM consistent with an eighteen-knot speed for a Shang. Contact is moving at fifteen knots. The shaft is pushing a greater mass through the water. It’s not a conventional Shang.” “Is she showing hostile intent?” asked the Captain. “Conn, Sonar, negative. There are no mechanical transients,” the STS replied, referring to sounds other than the boat’s propulsion system that might indicate the Chinese sub was opening its outer torpedo doors in preparation for an attack. “Battle stations, torpedo,” the Captain ordered with a calm in his voice he didn’t feel. “Close all watertight doors. I’m not taking chances.” A Lieutenant Senior Grade, standing nearby, retrieved a handset from its cradle and repeated the order, announcing, “Man battle stations torpedo. Close watertight doors.” into the boat’s MC1 to convey it throughout the rest of the boat. “Wheps, Conn,” the Captain said, using the abbreviation Wheps to refer to the Weapons Officer. “Calculate firing solutions to contact and feed solutions to tubes two and four. Ready tubes two and four.” “Conn, Weapons, aye. Calculating firing solutions. Readying tubes two and four.” “Who the hell are you?” the Captain muttered under his breath. “Helm make your course one six zero. Let’s take a perpendicular track away from his vector. All ahead, slow. Make revolutions for eight knots. Rig the boat for silent running. Maybe he hasn’t noticed us yet.” “Conn, Maneuvering, aye. Coming about to zero six zero. Slowing to eight knots. Rigging the boat for silent running.” “Conn, Weapons. Firing solutions locked and loaded. Tubes two and four ready in all respects. Shall I open outer doors?” “Negative,” replied the Captain. “I don’t want to spook him and force his hand. I’m going to try and lose him first.” “Conn, Weapons, aye.” “Maneuvering, Conn,” said the Captain. “Ten-degree down-bubble on the diving plane. Make your depth three five zero feet. Let’s take her down below the thermocline and see if we can further mask our escape,” he ordered, the thermocline being a steep temperature gradient in the ocean marked by a layer above and below where the water is at different temperatures. Temperature gradients tend to reflect sound waves and can hide from sonar another submarine’s presence. “Conn, Maneuvering, aye. Ten degree down-bubble. Making depth three five zero feet.” “Ok,” said the Captain, “does somebody want to explain to me now how a Chinese attack boat closed within three thousand yards without being detected?” “Conn, Sonar. No answer to that, sir. We just re-ran the tapes, and nothing shows up prior to our alert at three thousand-yards. The boat must have some new type of countermeasures.” “Well, that’s a great big bucket of bad,” said the Captain. “Comms,” he said, referring to the Communications Officer, “prepare a brief for COMSUBPAC,” referring to the COMandSUBmarinesPacific. “We need to raise the surface antenna and alert fleet as soon as we lose this guy.” “Conn, comms, aye.” “Conn, Maneuvering. Leveling off at three five zero feet. Speed eight knows at course one six zero.” “Maneuvering, Conn, aye.” Suddenly, a loud ping reverberated throughout the Wyoming. “Conn, Sonar! Contact is attempting to reacquire us with active sonar!” “So much for not noticing us,” observed the Captain. “They must have deployed a tethered buoy below the thermocline. “Sonar, Conn. Go active. One ping only. Reacquire.” “Conn, Sonar, aye.” “Wheps, Conn. Recalculate on new sonar bearing and lock firing solution for tubes two and four, but standby. Keep outer doors closed. I’m going to let him know we’ve got a cocked pistol and are prepared to retaliate, but I want him to understand we do not plan to take the first shot. The good news is he knows that at this range with a sonar-fix from our ping we can’t possibly miss. The bad news is we know at this range he can’t possibly miss either.” The Captain then turned to the Lieutenant standing next to him and said, “So, here’s the question: is he just trying to piss us off or is he about to attempt revenge for our sinking three boats of theirs in the Pacific last year?” referring to the U.S. Navy sinking three Chinese ballistic-missile submarines in the Pacific during recent tensions caused by China’s attack on the United States, code-named, Operation Chaos. “I suspect it may have been the latter right up until we used that sonar ping to announce we are on to him. I’m betting that gave him pause. I don’t think he’s on a suicide mission.” “Conn, Sonar. Contact just reacquired by towed array.” A submarine’s towed array refers to the type of sonar system that uses a long cable with attached hydrophones towed behind the boat to listen passively to a submarine’s sounds instead of measuring feedback from active sonar pings. “He’s followed us below the thermocline,” the Captain observed. “Any mechanical transients?” “Negative, but he’s changed course to zero niner five and reduced speed to ten knots.” “He’s triangulating an intercept course,” the Captain observed. “Maneuvering, Conn. Make revolutions for twenty-five knots. Let’s outrun him and see if he makes chase.” “Conn, Maneuvering, aye. Increasing speed to twenty-five knots.” All remained quiet in the conning tower as the Captain and crew waited to see how the Chinese sub would respond to their increase in speed. After two very long minutes, the STS announced “Conn, Sonar. Contact has not increased speed or changed course. We are gradually pulling away. Range to contact is now increasing.“

Aboard Chinese Shang III-Class Submarine, Type-094, Three-Thousand Yards from the Wyoming “Lock firing solution. Make weapon ready in all respects,” announced the Captain of the boat. “Firing solution locked,” replied the weapons officer. “Closure rate set to forty knots. Weapon will be on station in two minutes, twenty seconds from launch. Weapon is ready.” “Fire weapon,” ordered the Captain. Fire was a bit of a misnomer, as it wasn’t a weapon launched from a torpedo tube. But the Captain was old school and preferred to stay with traditional submarine weapons language. In reality, one hundred hooks arrayed on each side of the boat released their quarry along with sending an activation command. A swarm of two hundred underwater drones emerged, each about two and a half feet long, and began an ultra-quiet journey towards the Wyoming. “Weapon has acquired contact. All systems are optimal. All are transmitting biologic acoustic signatures.”

Aboard the Wyoming, SSBN-742 “Conn, Sonar. Picking up some sort of faint mechanical transients.” “Sonar, Conn. Is he opening his outer doors?” “Conn, Sonar. Definitely not the sound of outer torpedo doors opening. I’ve never heard this sound from a submarine before. It sounds like, well, like a bunch of faint clicks.” “Faint clicks?” the Captain asked. “Yes, sir. Faint clicks.” “Nothing else in the water?” the Captain asked. “No, sir. Just the normal background biologics. A large school of fish, but nothing else.” “Could the clicks be some kind of new active sonar system?” “Possible, sir, but unlikely. There’s nothing in any of the recent briefs to suggest the Chinese have developed a new type of sonar. Contact is still maintaining ten knots and has not changed course. Our range to contact is still increasing.” “He’s letting us outrun him,” the Captain observed. “But why?”

Aboard Chinese Shang III-Class Submarine, Type-094, Three-Thousand Five- Hundred Yards from the Wyoming “Sonar, Conn. What is the status of contact?” queried the Captain. “Conn, Sonar. Contact is proceeding on steady course of one six zero at twenty-five knots.” “No evasive maneuvers?” “No, sir, no evasive maneuvers.” The Captain smiled. “He thinks he’s outrunning us and that we have disengaged. Weapons officer, status report.” “Conn, weapons. Weapon is running true. All systems remain nominal. Time to target twenty-five seconds.”

Aboard the Wyoming, SSBN-742 Several seconds later, the submarine was suddenly filled with the sound of metal hitting metal as multiple objects began attaching themselves to the hull. “What the hell is that?” the Captain barked, now with evident concern in his voice. “Sonar, Conn, are you sure there’s nothing in the water?” he shouted “Sonar, Conn. Negative. Only biologic transients.” “BULLSHIT! LAUNCH COUNTERMEASURES!” the Captain shouted. “HARD RIGHT RUD…” He would not complete the order. Mid-sentence, there was a loud blast as the Wyoming’s hull was blown apart amidships as if it had been sliced by a guillotine. Tons of icy sea water shredded bodies with the force of sledge hammers bringing instant death to everyone in the Conn and the middle of the boat. The farther from the boat’s center, the less lucky were the crew. Those unfortunate souls at either end of the sub, where compartments remained largely water-tight from closed bulkheads, sustained catastrophic injuries from being slammed against bulkheads yet remained conscious long enough to realize they were sinking to a sea floor almost eighteen thousand feet beneath them. They had time to contemplate their fate. Loved ones never to be seen again. The blessings of life never to be enjoyed. But mostly thoughts of being blown apart as intact sections of the Wyoming eventually passed below crush depth, ushering in a horrific demise from a cold, unforgiving ocean. Alone, and in great pain, they drifted downwards towards an end of which they were fully aware. A submariner’s fate can be very cruel indeed.